What he didn’t know, was how she felt about it.
He approached her, slowly.
“Did you, then?” he said in a dispassionate voice, intended to provoke her.
With an angry cry, she flew at him, her fists striking his chest. His face. Hard.
He had never been more well pleased.
He caught her wrists—seizing her up against his chest and carrying her to the bed as she writhed like a furious cat—and he tossed her down. She moved quickly to escape him, but he captured her easily there atop the furs, pinning her wrists and halting the thrashing of her legs with his thigh.
He looked down into her beautiful, outraged face.
“You are jealous,” he declared.
She struggled, wrenching her arms, and twisting. She felt so good beneath him, lithe and womanly all at once. A dangerous pleasure tightened his loins.
“Nay, not jealous,” she spat. “You betray my father with her and for that I hate you.”
He admired the fire in her, finding it enthralling. At the same time, he took pleasure in the differences in their bodies, his size and strength—and her femininity. He overpowered her every attempt to strike him or throw him off, but gently, with an intent toward seduction.
“That’s not it,” he said, his hands moving, binding her still … but lowering his head to nuzzle the tantalizing skin of her neck … kissing her there, and savoring her fragrance.
“Niall,” she gasped, squirming, warm and soft against him. His body reacted, his sex going hard against her thigh. “Please stop.”
“Confess it,” he growled low, in her ear, grinning. “You were jealous over me.”
“Let me go.” Her body remained rigid.
“Not until you say it,” he murmured.
She turned her face away from him, and closed her eyes.
“I won’t,” she exclaimed softly. “I can’t.”
His eyes hungrily memorized her delicate profile, which now reflected more hurt than anger. He understood her refusal. She had her pride just as he did, which made certain confessions difficult. But he would be nothing less than ruthless in drawing her out from behind the high bastion of her pride, and making her his own.
“You think I kissed you … toyed with you, and then made love to her,” he said in a quiet voice.
“Kisses are only kisses.” She pushed against him, straining her muscles to be free. “You mean nothing to me.”
“That’s not true,” he dared answer, an edge of arrogance in his voice. “You only say that because you think I betrayed you—”
“—you did betray me,” she choked out.
The torment in her voice satisfied him, to his soul. It all but confirmed she had been as miserable as he. Tenderly, he grazed his thumb along her cheek.
“How could I ever betray you,” he answered gruffly, “when from the first moment, there has only been you?” He exhaled through his nose. “I see you … everywhere. Every time I close my eyes. Even when I sleep.”
Elspeth remained rigid, but she listened. He knew she did.
“She came here, yes,” he said. “But I sent her away, because she’s not you.”
He used the words as a weapon, yes, but they were true—so true that speaking them made him feel like he walked naked onto a crowded and bloody battlefield, blindfolded, with no weapon in hand.
Beneath him, she stared up, her gleaming dark hair spread out across the fur, her breasts rising and falling, crushed by the neckline of her lèine.
The tension in her body slowly … eased … and she went soft.
“Niall.” She shifted against him, innocently, he had no doubt, but in doing so, she brought his sex more intimately between her thighs.
He clenched his teeth as heat rippled through his body, the power of his need causing his vision to blur. Slow down, he commanded himself. Slow down, else you’ll frighten her away.
“Don’t move that way, lass,” he warned. “You don’t know what it does to me.”
She sighed. “What do you think it does to me?”
Her words surprised him, and he laughed, but then … the smile fell from his lips because he felt more for her than he ought to feel.
“I’ve been so miserable,” she whispered, her cheeks flushed and her lips parted, a temptress peering up at him. Gently, she pulled free from his hold, and touched her hands to either side of his face. “I don’t want to be miserable anymore.”
Firelight bathed her face half golden, half in shadows. In this moment, surrounded by darkness and completely alone, with their bodies so intimately matched, he forgot about revenge and saw only Elspeth. Not because of blind desire, which he could control, but because she was the first woman to calm his raging soul and in this moment he needed to make love to her like he needed his next breath.
He lowered his head, kissing her, gently at first, but then, as his heartbeat ramped higher, pressing his mouth hard to hers, slanted and open, only to pull back, grazing … teasing … until she let out a sigh and lifted her head from the furs, kissing him back.
“I tried to forget you,” she whispered against his lips, her hands touching the bare skin of his torso.
“I tried to let you forget me, but I cannot.”
He kissed her again—more fervently, a drumbeat of warning even now sounding in his head, telling him he must lock his heart securely away before going any further. Caring for her too deeply would be a dangerous thing. Despite this, all he felt was the need to claim her, and keep her. To make her his woman.
Pulling back, wanting to see her, he delved his fingers through her silken hair, cradling her delicate skull. Her hands came up between them, smoothing over his naked chest, and higher, to clasp his shoulders.
“You’re so beautiful,” she said breathlessly. “I have never seen any man more so. Not just you, on the outside, but your heart. Every time I look in your eyes, I see a good man. An honorable man.”
Her observation shook him to his core. He had his reasons for seeking revenge against her father. Honorable reasons, yes. But one day soon she would see the darkness in him, and recognize him as the vengeful beast he was. No doubt she would hate him for it, and this magnificent attraction between them would cease to exist.
Desperate to have her while he could, he pressed his face to her neck, inhaling, tasting her soft skin, moving lower to the edge of her bodice where her breasts crowded the linen. A ragged gasp burst from her lips. Her body moved beneath him, her hands touched his skin, equally eager in their exploration.
“I have dreamt about touching you like this,” he murmured reverently.
“As have I,” she whispered, her cheeks vivid with sensual fever.
He bit her lower lip, sucking it between his. She moaned, bringing her arms around his back, pulling him closer, his bare chest crushing against her breasts. Ravenous, his mouth opened on hers, deeply claiming her with lips and tongue.
“Like this.” He closed a hand over her breast, caging it within his hand, and then stroked slowly, savoring the fullness and the sensation of her aroused nipple grazing his palm through the linen.
“Yes,” she sighed. Again, her hips moved, her dark eyelashes feathering down against her cheeks.
His sex was painfully hard and ready, but she was innocent, and he would not take her carelessly. His mouth dry with desire, he hooked his fingertips into the collar of her lèine and gently tugged, exposing one perfect, pink tipped breast.
“It is you who are beautiful, Elspeth.”
She made a frantic sound, and wrapped her hand around his wrist, but she did not push him away.
His desire rose, rampant in his veins. Impatient to see all of her, he shifted off enough to grasp the hem of her shift and seized the garment up, bunching it near her shoulder, baring the full length of her body to his gaze. She shifted, clenching her legs together, but did not shrink from his gaze. God, she was more than he even believed. A fantasy come to life. His hand moved over her golden skin, caressing her breasts, her smooth stomach and t
he curve of her hips and soft thighs, to settle possessively on the shadowy place in between.
He bent to kiss her mouth.
“Let me touch you,” he commanded softly, stroking her there.
She closed her eyes, and arched, gasping out his name. Her legs parted. Another stroke … and her thighs squeezed. He touched her more intimately, combining slow-building pressure and rhythm to give her pleasure. She moaned, and her hips moved until he knew she sought something more.
Enveloping her in his arms, he reached down to urge her knees apart. Looking into her enraptured face, he lowered his hips between hers, groaning, his cock only separated from her body by the linen he wore.
Her hands moved over his back, smoothing over his muscles, clenching there.
All he could think was that he needed to be closer. He hooked his thumb inside the waist of his garment, yanking them down—
“… wait,” she murmured, breathing hard.
“I can’t,” he rasped, kissing her face, finding her lips.
She kissed him back ardently—then twisted her face from his, her entire body going rigid. Her hand seized his against his hip.
“Niall, stop.”
He froze, the words and her sudden stillness filtering through. He breathed heavily against her cheek. “Elspeth?”
“I can’t,” she choked.
He blinked, dazed … confused. Had he … taken things too far? Had he misread her willingness, blinded by his own passion?
“I can’t,” she repeated, exhaling. “I want to, but I can’t.”
He bit his lower lip, almost hard enough to draw blood, and pressed his face against her cheek. “All right.”
He had never forced a woman, and would not force Elspeth now, no matter how badly he wanted her.
“Please don’t be angry,” she pled softly.
“At you,” he murmured, kissing her temple, “I could never be.”
And yet his body ached for completion. He rolled off her, onto his back, and covered his face with his hands, willing his body to calm.
In the darkness beside him, Elspeth pulled her garment down, covering herself. “I’m sorry.”
He heard the dejection in her voice, and turned, raising up onto one elbow and touched her face, a fierce surge of protectiveness rising in his chest.
“You mustn’t be.” Lowering down, he kissed her nose. “I should have kept my head. I should not have allowed things to go so far.”
She shook her head, and took hold of his hand. “I have no regrets.”
“Then nor can I.”
“I don’t want to go,” she said. “But…”
“But I know that you must.”
He stood, his body still in agony, and crossed the room, where he pulled on a tunic and went to the door. A glance over his shoulder showed Elspeth arranging her plaid on her shoulder. She joined him at the door, where he looked down into her eyes. She leaned close, curling her hand in the front of his tunic.
He would not force her to make promises. But neither would he make any of his own.
“I feel like I should explain,” she said quietly.
But he did not need to hear more of alliances and arranged marriages and how little time he had left in which to claim her.
He shook his head. “I know who you are, Elspeth. And I know who I am not. You need not explain to me why you should not be here. Why we cannot be together.”
He also knew that the only way to ensure she returned to him, was to let her go.
“Niall—” she whispered.
His finger beneath her chin, he tilted her face up and kissed her. She breathed into his mouth, and he opened his wider, tasting her deeply with his tongue. Instantly, he wanted more. His hands went to her waist, pulling her against him. Her arms around his neck, they kissed again, against the door, shrouded in shadows.
Until releasing her, he stepped back and murmured, “I make no demands on you. But I am here, and you may come to me if you wish.”
Without waiting to hear what she might reply, he pulled her plaid high, to cover her hair and face and then opened the door and peered out. “Come, this way.”
Outside, he led her down the lane, back toward the gate, where together they slipped into the still crowded bailey, not touching one another, but moving shoulder to shoulder with others who milled about, drinking ale and laughing.
As they moved toward the castle, Conall appeared out of the darkness.
Niall kept his manner easy as the man came toward them.
“Elspeth, there you are. Your father had sent me to walk you back from Fiona’s.”
“Niall was kind enough to give me escort.”
Conall looked between the two of them, perhaps … a bit suspiciously.
Niall nudged her toward Conall.
“Kind?” he said in an ill-tempered tone. “No. I’m not kind at all. I just don’t want to be galloping across the countryside to save her from peril again. The lass wanders alone too much at night. Her father should keep her confined to the castle until she is wed.”
Conall’s face broke into a smile, and he laughed. “Aye, you are right about that. Good night then, I will see her home from here.”
He led her away from Niall, toward the castle.
“How is Fiona?” he heard Conall ask her.
“Well and happy,” Elspeth replied. “But I should like to send father’s physician to examine her tomorrow.”
“That can certainly be arranged,” he answered.
Elspeth glanced over her shoulder at him. He did not break a smile.
But he did wink.
Chapter 15
Three mornings later, shrieks awakened Elspeth.
In the moment before awakening, she feared that she had somehow been found out, and that everyone in the castle knew what she had done—and almost done—with Niall in his quarters. Things she’d just been dreaming about, in a drowsy-warm, half sort of sleep.
Her eyes flew open to see all three of her half-sisters jump on her bed, wearing excited smiles.
“Get up Elspeth. Have you forgotten what day it is?” Mairi exclaimed. “We are going to the Crystal Spring to bathe in the waters.”
“So we will all be fertile!” exuded Derryth, with a mischievous gleam in her eye.
Cat sprang up. “What does fertile mean?”
“It means healthy.” Derryth threw Elspeth a wink. “Robust!”
“No it doesn’t,” Mairi answered knowingly. “Not exactly.”
“Shhhhh!” Elspeth shushed.
Aye, it was a tradition they partook in once a year, a day of fun they all looked forward to. A daring plunge into the frigid waters of the Crystal Spring, which local legend told would make a woman fertile.
“You especially, Elspeth,” said Derryth. “Because you will be wed very soon and will want babies as soon as possible.”
Did she want babies as soon as possible? She did not know how she felt about that, and didn’t really want to think about it anymore. If she did, Niall’s face would spring to mind, and the fantasy of a life with him, and she must not wish for such unattainable things.
It had been three days since the night in his bed, and she had existed in the most bewildering state of distraction ever since. She could think of little else but his kiss and his deep voice in her ear. His lean body and his tattoos, and the way he had felt so heavy and warm and powerful against her bare skin. Not to mention the things they had done in the shadows of his room, for which she still could summon not one bit of regret.
Since then, they had crossed paths numerous times, and had pointedly ignored each other, at best exchanging cool greetings—but also the most thrilling, secret, burning glances and once, a daring touch of hands that her father, if he would have turned a second sooner, would have seen. But frustratingly there had been no opportunity for even a single private word. It was torture, not only being separated from him, but knowing in only a few days she would be traveling to the Cearcal Festival, which would take her
away from him forever.
Fiona had been right. She feared if she opened her heart to him any more than she already had, that she would never find happiness as wife to another man.
And she knew better than to venture to his quarters again. She knew without a doubt where that would lead, and she no longer trusted herself to resist. In her waking hours, her conscience did constant battle, one moment arguing that she should seek happiness in Niall’s arms while she could, but … what of her husband, whoever he might be? She had always promised herself that she would save herself for marriage, and that powerful voice always won the argument in the end.
Aye, their attraction was wildly intense, but in truth she had known him but for a brief span of days. Did she love him—or was she only infatuated? Her instincts told her he was a good and honorable man, but how could she know for certain? She couldn’t. For that reason, she knew she must hold fast to her honor, rather than surrender her virtue to a man who was in truth, still very much a stranger.
Oh, but how would she ever forget him? She didn’t want to.
* * *
Perhaps a frigid plunge was just what she needed.
She arose and dressed in a short chemise, a lèine, and a dark blue woolen overdress, and with her sisters and maids left the castle without seeing Niall, or any of the other chosen warriors who regularly followed him off each day to ride the borders to engage the Alwyns whenever possible so as to show that the MacClarens would not quietly accept the aggressions that had been directed toward them.
Stableboys waited in the bailey with their ponies. Several wagons already moved out of the gate, full of ladies from the village and the castle—old women and young women alike. Ina was there, laughing, crowded shoulder to shoulder with all the maids from the castle. Fiona cheerfully led her wagon full of more mature ladies in song. Other wagons laden with tents and linens and baskets of food trundled behind.
To Elspeth’s surprise, Bridget appeared atop the fine white palfrey, which had been a gift from the MacClaren on the day of their wedding. Their stepmother had previously scoffed when informed of the tradition and legend, saying she had no intention of joining them and subjecting herself to the misery of the cold.
The Beast of Clan Kincaid Page 15